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I've been well, thank you, although yesterday my truck decided at the last minute (as I got stuck in a marshy field) to just give up on the concept of having forward gears, and would only go in reverse, so that was fun. I
passed the 21 mark, which in the states, as you might know, means that I am a man (puts on yarmulke, recites Hebrew in a 13-year-old voice), so I went out and bought some Retsina (for when my first-sister (being Erica) finally arses her way up here), some Irish Crème (great in coffee or black teas) and a few pints of good, English stout (oatmeal stout, actually -- tastes like a bowl of oatmeal, looks like a pint of molasses with a head on it, you should try it). But enough bragging.

From an absolute pessimistic standpoint, it looks like there won't be an England trip this summer from the Uni. There's only 2 people signed up so far, and, with the exception of the European Studies group, which has 9.6
billion students in it, pretty much every summer study abroad tour is going bust. However, that's not going to stop ME from coming this summer: if I can get the funds together (and I have friends who, having friends being
rich, are willing to petition on my behalf), I'm going, and since I'm not actually held to any particular programme, I'll just wander all over Europa if I can manage it (i.e. London, Canterbury, Paris, Aachen (love those crazy
Carolingians), St. Gall, Venice, Ravenna, Roma, and the Vesuvian plain would be a nice itinerary, but that depends on funds and how much the TGV costs/goes).

That's all the news that isn't.

I brunched with Drew, Colleen, Stuart, Amy, and John. We talked about various things, just the general stuff. Drew noted -- while Colleen was off-screen -- that he had officially broken it off with Rachel, a move of which the Sybil in me approved. (It's a very small Sybil. Sybil: "I want to die!" Sorry. In-joke. Go read Petronius.)

I picked up the Key Book, Sennett's Flesh and Stone and intend to spend the rest of the day reading it, with a brief respite around 1630 or so to fry some fish, and perhaps do a page of Latin.

Speaking for the good of the British economy, I'd tax all foreigners living abroad.
I'd tax Raquel Welch, but I've a feeling she'd tax me.


I still haven't really read the Phaedo, but I do have a plan now to do all my readings for the next week on the weekend prior, freeing up my weekdays to do whatever needs to be done. I'm also still disappointed with the Mullins library, who apparantly think it's funny to say they have a book on the shelves, when they only have it in the stacks, and won't put it on the shelves until it's too late. I'm bloody going to have to order several of these books.
I actually saw Colleen Platt yesterday, when Drew showed up with her at Stuart's 25th birthday party. The rumours seemed to be true then, because they acted like people act when they're orbiting each other nervously in their first public appearance after a breakup and reunion.

SWM, 21, slightly heavy, seeking wealthy late-20's early-thirties british dowager to sweep me off my feet and take me to England for the rest of my natural life. Please call IMperium-326


Not much to say, you know? It's been quiet. I did Latin, and the readings for Rome on Film (including the write-up of Cabiria), and have steadfastly ignored the Phaedo, a situation I'm hoping to rectify soon. I've also been working up a readings list for the Thesis, and while I haven't gotten around to doing any actual READING, that, I hope, will soon change.
On an unrelated note, I am HIGHLY diappointed with Mullins library. Those bastards are as empty as junkie's head, and about as with it.
At least I had today off. I did very little, mind you, but I had today off.
Drew said he talked to Colleen Platt, which surprised me, but only midly, and I don't think I gave him the proper surprise response, but I grinned in all the right places. Very... interesting. He also wants to start up a "Latin-for-German" programme, (sounds like something from the UN), which I will be pleased with, as it means that, if we are successful, I can avoid taking German from the school. Multo bene!

God's Phallus.

Made you look.


Mi amici e amice,

I've switched out of "Technology & the Humanities", which was essentially everything I had in Commerical Art (for, I might add, two years), only updated, and I've been keeping up. I still can't animate, and that might be a problem -- maybe -- but we'll touch on that later on. Davo wants a website for Rome on Film, and I have the barest minimum of ideas for one, but it's good to have it now, and get it perhaps out of the way, or at least to a point where I can say, "HOLY SHIT I'VE GOT A 14-PAGE CONFERENCE PAPER DUE BY THE END OF THIS TERM" or something to that effect, because, well, I do. In the class into which I switched, being "St. Peter's Basilica", taught by the Fab Kim Sexton. Guess who encouraged me to go into SPB. Guess. Those of you guessing "Lynda Coon", you get bonus points.

So, yeah, let's see:
Comprehensive and well-researched/presented website;
14-page conference paper on some kind of aspect of St. Peter's;
Four 5-page papers for Rector Spellman in Neoplatonism & Early Christian Thought;
and all sorts of exams, songs-and-dances, and other choral routines for classes; AND
I have to have the smoothest rough beginnings of an Honors Thesis, by which is meant that a good majority of research is done by early May.

All this by the end of term. Hot damn, and thank God I can drink legally now, because I have a feeling that I may be doing a lot of it, since alcohol is the only legal stimulant available to me, and I don't really feel like breaking a law that can get me sent to HELL for the rest of my life.

Oh yeah, and it snowed three inches yesterday. Marvellous.

Zaphod Beeblebrox, this is a stiff drink. Hi. *gulp*


The oil leak was an unsealed gasket; we've got that fixed now. Classes are quiet, but look pretty good. A few rom. prospects, but aside from that it's standard fare. I've got Latin to do, and Plato and Suetonius and Imperial Projections to read. I meet with Coon tomorrow for Thesis Hour.

More on this as it develops.


Yes, Virginia, there is a St. Christopher. I'm here in F'ville, safe, WITH THE TRUCK. It's eating oil like there's no embargo, and I got locked out of of it this morning and ended up prying my way in with a screwdriver (through the sliding glass windows -- God bless older trucks). I'm safe, sound, hale and well, and I've got food, and most of my stuff unpacked. The folks are here, and we'll go to church tomorrow... it's nice. I'm feeling good again.

Standing there on main street, across from Mr. Blues,
My faded leather jacket, my weathered brogan shoes.
A chill north wind is blowing and the spring is coming on,
and I wondered to myself just how long I had been gone.
Then I strolled across old main street
walked down a flight of stairs,
stepped into the hall and saw that all my friends were there,
a neon sign was flashing "Welcome, Come on in"
Feels so good, feeling good again.
-- Robert Earl Keen, Jr. "Feeling Good Again".

Ahh... I say, Katerina, this bath you've drawn for me is lovely, simply SPLENDED! Good show!


Oi Kalloi:

I did some work for SR yesterday, and got paid. Checking my email this morning, I discovered a pay statement from the University that was $50 more than I was expecting, and that my bill for said University was less than my scholarships and grants by $1200 or so. In other words, I'm fairly set for the term, kiddos.

Turns out that's pretty good, because I may be having to change out a damn transmission soon, and I've GOT to get an air-breather for the truck before I go up. Picture this: on a 250 horse 4L Straight-six, I've got an air-breather FIVE inches in diameter. FIVE. Also I think the carbourator is either dirty or just bad. It is a Chevy, though -- it takes five minutes in the winter to decide that it has a transmission, which means until the engine's sufficently warm, I have to wait to go anywhere. But it runs. Four wheels and a seat.

I'm looking forward to going back. I really am. I think of that tiny apartment as a greater home than this house, though this has served me for far many more years than the other. Still, my parents are getting ready to move, ta to kyne, so I suppose I'd BETTER like the damn apartment.

I recovered Carlos' artwork from O Oikos, and intend to frame it and place it about the flat in appropriate places. Then I shul compleat feel.

My heroes have ALWAYS been cowboys. Yours were probably accountants.


Sadly, mi amici, mi parvissmi, duclissimi, agnissimi amici, the instrument cluster was not compatible with the rest of the truck, so we took out the spedometer, but that didn't work, so we fiddled around down below with the spedometer gear, until that worked, and then it was all right, except that it's making a few sounds it didn't make before, and has lots of fun new smells. Yay! I love this truck!

Nothing much besides, sad to say. I should be doing some things for S.R. soon, and that'll pay a few bills, and I got an email from Ross, and that'll pay... no, that was nice. Sorry.

Today's sign in which you are required to go forth and conquer is: ‡ Good luck!


Behold! This is the first post of the New Year. I myself am doing well, thank you, and have much to speak of you. Foremost:
* I have completed For Whom The Bell Tolls, and found it good, if somewhat of an ending much confusing. Waiting is; grok will I later.
* Only this very day I bought an instrument cluster for the truck; it contains not only a new fucking spedometer -- the gear was fine, thank you -- but all the other instruments I was seeking, plus the proper circuitry and perhaps a few fewer burnt-out lights.
* I've seen all the fun holiday movies now, like The Two Towers and Star Trek: Nemesis. There is, however, one trailer for some disaster movie that includes the massive, electrical (and implausible) destruction of the Flavian Amphitheatre. WHY? Why must they destry mi amicitia cive? I cry every time.
* I bought Dante's Commedia in parallel editions, for less than £15, tax included.
* I went in the attic and found many of the books I'd been missing over the years, and my old stuffed cat, MewMew. He needs stuffing, and a good cleaning, and I'll put him on the couch, where he belongs. I'm going to be fucking buried with that cat.

I'm doing all right. I'll survive. You... you go ahead. (cough) Just let me peg one last sonuvabitch. I'll get him. You... (cough) you go on ahead. GO!